by Lynne Matson
The gap between us widened and I made a choice: paddle hard. Better to keep up with him and risk getting spotted than to lose him. After all, maybe the boy knew a secret route to the Death Twins that would keep me from getting killed. Of the two of us, he was the only one who knew where he was going.
I was an uninvited plus-one.
Oddly enough, he hadn’t turned around once; he was completely intent on his destination. Plus he had a feisty goat and a stolen chicken to contend with, so his abridged Noah’s Ark trumped my empty canoe as far as distractions went.
I picked up my speed. The sun disappeared. The water darkened to black, and the air cooled. I shivered, wishing I had a sweater, or better yet, a shred of common sense. This impromptu canoe ride suddenly seemed dangerously stupid.
I was as bad as my dad. I guess curiosity was genetic after all.
But nothing about this boy made sense. His bearing screamed the opposite of brave, and yet here he was, paddling out to an allegedly deadly island at night, on his birthday no less.
Most people got cake. He apparently got a goat, a solo canoe ride, and a burst of bravado, enough to steal a chicken. Who steals a chicken?
You stole a canoe, my conscience chided.
I told my conscience to shut the heck up.
And then there were the words I’d heard falling from the dad’s lips and carried by the wind: Spirit Island.
Maybe that was this boy’s birthday gift. But was he running toward it, or away from it?
I had to know.
The moon rose as the boy disappeared behind one of the islands. When I rounded the shore, an empty canoe was pulled up onto the beach, and the boy, goat, and stolen poultry were nowhere in sight. A black cat sat at the tree line, its tail flicking quietly, its yellow eyes on me, watching. The cat creeped me out more than the dark water.
About twenty yards from the boy’s canoe, I landed, dragged mine higher on the beach, and draped a few fallen palm fronds to cover it. Ignoring the creepy cat, I jogged over to the boy’s canoe and followed the prints. Goat hooves in sand make for easy tracking.
Away from the beach, the darkness thickened with the trees.
I walked faster, and a few minutes later I saw the kid, off to my right. Walking slowly, he still carried the chicken and cat basket and led the goat. He looked as happy as a visitor to a wake. His festive lei was out of place.
I crept along, keeping the boy in sight. The half-moon was bright enough to both guide me and give me away, forcing me to keep my distance.
Eventually, he stopped. The trees ended abruptly in an open area of flat black rock. The boy stood in the very center, turning in a slow circle, still holding the goat’s rope. For one terrified instant I thought he spotted me, but he kept turning. Then he dropped to his knees, studying the ground. He traced invisible lines in the air, lines that formed lazy circles and mysterious shapes.
Standing again, he backed up to the edge of the flat rock, dropped his head, and sat down with a sigh. The chicken squawked.
“Shut up,” the boy grumbled. “It’s not your funeral.”
I fumbled for my phone, knowing I should text my dad and tell him I was okay. Just as I fished it out of my backpack, something furry brushed my leg. A cat, this one a tabby.
Weird, I thought. Cat island. I wasn’t a fan. I’d never been a cat person, probably because I had allergies.
The cat meowed.
I backed up, worried the cat might call the boy’s attention to me; same for the glow of my phone’s screen. I shielded my phone with my hand.
No signal; I’d forgotten. Crap.
I stashed my worthless phone back in my backpack and refocused on the boy.
He hadn’t moved. He seemed oblivious to everything but whatever was going on in his head.
I didn’t need a degree in astrophysics to know the boy was waiting for something, I just didn’t know what. But my instincts told me it was something more important than a birthday cake.
At midnight, my answer rose from the ground.
In the center of the black rock, the ground turned liquid, the surface rippling and roiling where solid rock should be. Without warning, the wavering ground rocketed up into the air and stopped; now it was an invisible wall framed by the night, black on black, the shimmering lines defining where night began and the weird air ended. Then the inside black fell away. A sheer wall of translucent air shimmered in the night like a million specks of diamonds reflecting the moon itself, and yet I could still see through it. Almost.
It writhed in place, waiting.
The boy strode forward and threw the chicken toward the weird veil of shimmering air. The bird hit the air wall and disappeared. The boy waited; I could vaguely see his lips moving. Then he pushed the very reluctant goat forward. The goat seemed to get sucked into the shimmering wall, and then, like the chicken, it too disappeared. Again the boy waited. I realized he was counting to three. Then, with a backward glance at the gray cat in the basket, the boy stepped into the rippling air and vanished.
A white cat shot from the dark, into the glistening wall after the boy. Boom. Gone.
The air still shimmered. Still waiting.
I burst from my hiding spot and ran straight toward the wall, every cell in my being telling me that this was a gate, a gate to Nil exactly like my Uncle Scott had described, only this gate didn’t move and how the heck did the boy know one would appear?
One …
Two …
I hit the shimmering air on three and it clung to me like warm sludge; it held me, wrapped around me, and as I fought to breathe, heat poured into every pore … every cell … every last speck of me.
And when the heat washed through my eyes, stealing my sight, I screamed, and yet I didn’t. No sound escaped; there was no air.
There was no me.
And yet, I was still here.
Just when I thought I would explode from the heat, every cell went ice cold. I fractured into a billion brittle bits, knit together by invisible thread that I held tight with my mind … I grasped it with every ounce of strength I had, holding on in the sheer black nothingness—and then it slipped. Drifted away, out of reach.
Gone.
Like me.
CHAPTER
21
RIVES
DAY 276, JUST BEFORE MIDNIGHT
I woke with a jolt.
My hand automatically sought my blade in the dark. The sea hissed my name with an intensity that made me sit up.
I was alone.
And yet I wasn’t.
The island’s presence filled my hut like invisible smoke. The night air vibrated with energy, but it wasn’t just the air: it was the ground, the sea, the very DNA of the island itself. It reminded me of the night when I’d woken from my deadsleep coma, fully alive, only right now it was Nil that vibrated with life. My blood pulsed in time with an invisible beat.
I’d felt this island vibe once before, but never so potent. Never so overwhelming.
And then it was gone.
Invisible smoke, sucked away by an invisible wind.
Outside my hut, Zane patrolled listlessly. He spun the instant I left my hut.
“What’s up, Chief?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“Did you feel that?” I asked.
“Feel what? A tremor?”
I shook my head. “Not a quake. It was something else. Something powerful, like a pulse. Deep in the island. I’m not sure what it was.”
Zane shook his head. “I didn’t feel a thing, dude.” He glanced toward Mount Nil. “I sure hope she’s not going to blow her top.”
“I hope not, too. But whatever it was, it’s gone.”
“Amen,” Zane said. He was still looking at the mountain. I wondered if Zane had felt something after all.
“Go sleep,” I said. “I’ve got this.”
“You sure?” Shadows of hesitation flickered across his face.
“I’m sure. I’ve slept. You haven’t.” I opted not to me
ntion I’d just sacked out minutes before I’d been woken up. “Go.” I reached out my hand. “I’ll take your torch, though.”
Zane didn’t protest twice.
I stood near the firepit, alone again.
Assessing again.
Because the same feeling that had woken me whispered that the island’s vibe had shifted in a new direction. Maybe this shift is in our favor, I thought, sweeping the darkness beyond the City. Maybe something good is coming.
God knows we’re due.
Actually, we were overdue. I’d just realized there would be no rooster calls at dawn, because the rooster was gone. Snatched, like the goat. The bird had made a tasty midnight snack for something.
Something with fur.
A tuft of coarse gold fur glinted in the torchlight, snagged on the rough wood of the chicken pen. Cat or dog, leopard or hyena, it was a toss-up. I couldn’t tell what animal had been the attacker, other than one that was hungry. And a chicken was an appetizer compared to a meaty goat.
I looked at the pair of hens huddled in the pen’s far corner. I’d huddle up, too, if I were you, I thought.
Then I realized I am you.
The only difference between my house and the chicken coop was that mine had a thatched roof. Not exactly reassuring.
And I still hadn’t seen Burton.
Michael appeared out of the dark, from the hut Zane just entered.
“Everything okay?” I asked quietly.
“Can’t sleep,” he said. He looked around, unsmiling. I’d never seen him smile, not once. Then again, Nil didn’t lend itself to humor. “How goes the night?”
“Bad for the rooster.” I gestured toward the pen.
Michael muttered something in Korean that sounded like a curse.
“Sitting here, like ducks”—he gestured around the City as he spoke—“fire is not enough.”
“I know. And the deadleaf barrier isn’t enough, either. It’s all defensive. We need a better plan,” I said. Before we become prey.
I glanced at the empty goat pen. Maybe we already were.
“I will think,” he said simply, “and try to sleep. Tomorrow night I will take your watch.” He nodded, his black hair falling in his eyes. He’d finally been here long enough to need a haircut. He turned back to his hut.
I watched him go, assessing. Michael’s build was strong, his footfalls quiet. And he was the best fisherman since Miguel. He’d gained muscle since he’d arrived, not to mention confidence.
Maybe I should trust him with more. His take on sitting ducks was dead-on.
My eyes drifted to the mountain, the highest point on Nil. I had the strangest urge to go there, right now, to see the island through Nil’s eyes.
Come, the wind whispered. Come and see.
I turned away, fighting myself. Fighting Nil. Trying to think and figure out what was coming.
I really needed more sleep.
CHAPTER
22
SKYE
DAY 1, AFTER MIDNIGHT
I came to, my ears ringing with unfamiliar voices. Angry voices.
“Why did you bring her here? Who is she?”
“I didn’t bring her! I don’t know who she is!”
“She obviously followed you.” The first voice. Furious, frustrated. And thoroughly disgusted.
“I’ve never seen her before, I swear.” The second voice. Scared.
Silence.
I kept my eyes closed, unwilling to alert anyone that I was awake and listening. I moved my toe a fraction, just to see if I was paralyzed.
I wasn’t. And the awful heat and cold were gone.
“I believe you. Truthfully, I did not expect you. I expected your brother.”
“He went to the mainland to school. It is my destiny now.” That boy’s voice sounded shaky.
Another pause, followed by a heavy sigh. The first voice rumbled through the air, deep and strong.
“Destiny or no destiny, you have changed things, Paulo. You brought a haole onto sacred ground. I cannot help you now.”
“What?” Paulo’s voice quaked with fear. “You can’t just leave me here!”
“I’m not just leaving you here,” the first voice said. Definitely disgusted. “You are here. And you must find your way. That is our way. The sun will rise; the clock is ticking.” Footsteps. “And you must deal with her. There is a place to take her.”
With that, I jumped to my feet. Several things registered: the skinny boy no longer wore his flower lei; his cargo shorts had been replaced by a tan loincloth; another boy with major muscles and intricate black tattoos stared at me with an open mouth; I was naked; the moon was high and the air pitch-black; the ground was equally black and hard, and steam rose on my right.
I sprinted left and hurdled the chicken.
“Wait!” The strong voice boomed over my shoulder.
I didn’t wait.
I ran.
Over black rock, down a slope peppered with steps, flying over the ground and expecting a hand to catch me from behind at any moment.
“Hey!” Paulo’s voice. Scared.
I ran faster. The rock sloped around to the left, like a spiral track down a mountain, and then spilled me into a wide field of grass, and my spirits sank.
The meadow, I thought.
Uncle Scott’s journal said to avoid the meadow. But I couldn’t go back, not when the big guy’s order was to “deal with her.” Nothing good could come of that.
I’d chance the meadow.
I kept running, aware that I was a naked white streak in the night. Knowing you would show up naked is one thing, but actually showing up in a strange place naked? Terrible. Being prepared was no help at all. Ignoring my nakedness, I stayed at my sprint pace, running through the tall grass, determined to ditch the kid I’d worked so hard to track. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
Up ahead, stripes shifted in the dark, like living caution tape.
I skidded to a halt, my bare feet sliding on the slick grass and damp earth. When I got a clear look, fear coursed through me colder than the gate. Less than twenty feet ahead, a tiger paced the grasses like a feline guardian.
Turning toward me, the tiger stopped midstride.
The big cat’s eyes glinted in the night. They glittered, brilliant facets winking above a mouth lined with teeth that would sink into my flesh like hot knives through butter.
I stood stone still, struggling to remember the material I’d read on tiger confrontations and the optimal human response.
Look big? Or was that only for bears? Curl into a ball and look small? Or was that for bears? Stand still? Walk slowly away? Throw rocks?
Frozen in indecision, I did nothing.
The tiger stared at me for one endless moment, then he swung his huge head away from me and disappeared into the night.
He let me go.
There was no other explanation.
For a long moment, I didn’t move. I stood completely still, trying to process what had just happened. Then I gave up.
And I ran again.
CHAPTER
23
RIVES
DAY 277, DAWN
I’d decided Nil was more jacked than me.
All night on watch, I’d sensed the island. Listening, breathing, watching, but the weirdest part was that it didn’t feel like Nil was watching me. I was a sideshow, making me wonder about the main event.
If it involved the leopard, I’d take the Nil sideline any day. Hell, I’d take the Nil sideline every day; the spotlight was usually too painful.
Dawn broke as the sun stole the show.
Kiera cornered me after breakfast.
“Morning, Rives.” She smiled. “The Arches. Have you been there?”
I nodded as I fought a yawn. “Many times. Why?”
“Macy says the original carving is there.”
“I don’t know if it’s the original one, but yeah, there’s a carving. The Man in the Maze.”
“Can you take me to se
e it?”
I hesitated.
“Please?” she asked softly. She rested her hand on my forearm.
I did my best not to flinch.
“Macy talks about the carvings constantly,” Kiera said. “The one framed in the Arches. She says it’s the most important.”
Was the Man in the Maze the most important carving? The urge to uncover Nil’s secrets coursed through my veins like the sea, churning and relentless.
Suddenly a trip to the Arches sounded like exactly where this day should start.
“Let’s do it.”
Kiera squeezed my arm and smiled. Her hand lingered long enough for me to pull away.
“Where are y’all fixin’ to go?” Brittney asked as Kiera and I left the firepit.
“The Arches. South of the City. Have you been there yet?”
She shook her head.
“C’mon, then.” I waved her over. “Time for a tour, Brittney. You haven’t experienced Nil until you’ve seen the Arches.”
Disappointment flickered across Kiera’s face, but she recovered quickly. But anything she could ask me in private she could just as well ask in public. I had nothing to hide.
Liar, the sea crooned. You show what you want to be seen. I’ve seen the real you.
For a moment I rethought my decision to head to the Arches, where the sea crashed high enough against the rocks to touch skin. Then I kept walking. Because Talla’s ghost lurked everywhere. By the water, in the City, near the Flower Field. I wondered if it would follow me from Nil.
If I left.
I’m leaving, I thought fiercely.
“You’re quiet this morning, Rives,” Kiera said. We’d gotten all the way out of the City while I was lost in my own head.
“Just have a lot on my mind,” I said easily. Which revealed absolutely nothing.
“It must be hard to be the Leader,” she said softly. “Do you ever regret saying yes?”
I thought of Thad and Natalie. Both strong, both experienced. Both selfless. Both better Leaders than me.
“No,” I said, “I don’t regret it.” I’m still trying to live up to it. “For me, it’s an honor.”